There is a flower, a little flower With silver crest and golden eye, That welcomes every changing hour, And weathers every sky.

When evening closes Nature's eye, The glow-worm lights her little spark To captivate her favorite fly And tempt the rover through the dark.

While rose-buds scarcely show'd their hue, But coyly linger'd on the thorn.

Joys too exquisite to last, And yet more exquisite when past.

A mother's love — how sweet the name! What is a mother's love? — A noble, pure and tender flame, Enkindled from above, To bless a heart of earthly mould; The warmest love that can grow cold; This is a mother's love.

Songs of praise the angels sang, Heav'n with alleluias rang, when creation was begun, when God spoke and it was done.

Hymns should have unity, graduation and mutual dependence in the thoughts, a conscious progress, a sense of completeness and be easily understood.